


Mine

by Snow_Ooklet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Chastity Device, Cock Piercing, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Deepthroating, Dubcon Piercing, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Orgasm, Genital Piercing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Multiple Orgasms, NPI – No Pun Intended, Nipple Piercings, Non-Consensual, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Play, Piercings, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Performance, Sexual Slavery, Shaving / Hair Removal, Slavery, Tags Are Hard, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Training, cock and ball torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Ooklet/pseuds/Snow_Ooklet
Summary: {Life is made up of all sorts of inexplicable, seemingly insignificant choices.}In a world with one government there should have been few to no problems. No war, for the world in its entirety belonged to everyone, and all religion was discarded in favor of science and facts. No hunger, thirst or lack, for all resources were shared and all worked towards common goals in unity. No injustice, for all people were considered equal.And yet.The world Az Canamer lives in is far from perfect. The different Divisions of Authority rule and under them illegal slavery flourishes by another name. In a desperate bid to stop the ever-growing slave industry, the Division of Justice recruits an unwilling Az and thrusts him along with an attractive, angry detective into a world of depravity and corruption they could scarcely have imagined. Az, betrayed in his youth and despite the values imbued in him by his grandfather, turned to a life of crime and is now given the ultimate opportunity for atonement and redemption - ending slavery, in all its forms, for good.





	1. Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! *waves excitedly*
> 
> So, this is my first fic (I know, I know, kind of a big deal). I've had this idea bouncing around the old noggin for a while, so here it is (since the cyber world clearly does not have enough plot-heavy gratuitous smut floating around * wink wink, nudge nudge*).
> 
> I am also looking for some kind, kindred spirit to beta my work, so if you fancy doing that, helping me improve my writing style and general story, please by all means post a comment with some way of contacting you and I'll get back to you. 
> 
> All remarks or improvements welcome, as are kudos. :) They will keep me motivated (or forever crush my teeny tiny metaphorical baby wings, up to you).
> 
> Please be aware that while I will try to update at a reasonable pace, I will actually do so when inspiration thwacks me ‘round the back of the head with a hammer.
> 
> And with that striking image (yes, I pun), let the curtain rise and the story begin.

Life is made up of all sorts of inexplicable, seemingly insignificant choices.

 

It was laughable, truly it was. The choice between left and right, when one is rushing to a friend's wedding and happens to be carrying the ring. The choice between up and down to a small child hanging onto a swing for dear life, readying themselves giddily for their next jump into empty space. The choice between hitting the snooze button for those five extra minutes and dragging oneself out of bed to a college student who is about to be quite late to a mandatory class.

 

Az Canamer, a small fifteen-year-old, stood by, numb. Not entirely certain he understood the implications of aforementioned choices, though they weighed on his mind. He watched, feeling detached from himself, even as tears seeped slowly out of the corners of his dark brown eyes and slipped down his cheeks, dripping unbecomingly off his chin.

 

The scene before him was practically textbook, if you could call a funeral that. Sobbing hordes, droves of folk dressed in all manner of black clothing. All there to mourn his grandfather.

 

“A wonderful man of action”, one eulogized. “A true friend and a great believer, with morals and values he upheld all his life”, another stated stoically.

 

Az barely listened. He knew it all, knew his grandfather had received many medals and awards (never monetary ones though, he noted) for his selfless, incessant work for his world, for its people, for those who could not save themselves. For saving lives and improving them whilst convincing others to do the same, demanding no less. His grandfather had fundraised for as long as Az could remember. He had advocated staunchly for human rights and ensuring self-sufficiency in struggling populations, claiming identity and sense of self were key components to any such folk. He had, in short, believed.

 

Az still remembered the morning of his thirteenth birthday. His grandfather had woken him early that Sunday, the two working seamlessly around each other preparing their usual breakfast, two soft boiled eggs and two slices of toast with a little hard yellow cheese for garnish.

 

Az had been humming over the eggs as they cooked, keeping an eye on the clock to ensure a properly liquid yolk, when his grandfather asked sharply “What do you believe in?”. The question had struck lightning fast and just as unexpectedly. He scrambled for an answer under the sudden, keen scrutiny from such beloved and normally gentle hazel eyes.

 

Did his sweet, limerick inventing and silly song belting grandfather really just ask him that? It was as though he had become an entirely different person.

 

Yet another choice of his grandfather’s he had not consciously detected, though it too was glaringly obvious.

 

In the end, after several moments of careful consideration, Az settled for a cautious “I’m still finding out”. The gaze upon him softened. “Good. But don’t take too long. Man’s got to know why he does as he does. Now come here and let me show you the wonderful picture a sweet young girl sent me from our ‘Make a Home’ project in Seri. She'll be a true artist that one, you mark my words”. After a pause he asked with a sly look “Haven't found a pretty girl to send you drawings yet, have you?”.

 

Az had ignored the question, choosing instead to place his grandfather's egg in its cup, sit down and take a bite of his own perfectly prepared egg. He did not feel the need to add _or boy_. Truly. He simply wished it had been a part of the original phrasing, wistful for a reality that would not come to pass. Would now never come to pass.

 

Az shook himself free of the useless thoughts. Tried to pry his screaming mind away from the memories that glowed like embers in his mind and seemed to burn just as hot.

 

He could not bring himself to ignore the moment they finally brought out a body-shaped shroud. _He's under there_ , a tiny horrified part of him whispered at the back of his mind. He gazed at the shroud, incapable of connecting this strange white clothed mummy-shaped figure to his beloved grandfather. It did not seem possible. _Had he really been so… small?_

 

The shroud was lowered into a hole in the ground. An ominous, perfectly square shaped hole. _Do they all come specially made like that_ , Az wondered, _or did one have to order specifically in advance. “Hello, I'm here to buy a grave plot and I would like a neat rectangle if you please”. “Ah, a two by half?” “Hardly, I'm only a meter sixty!”_.

 

As Az tried to quell the rising impulse to burst into hysterical giggles, one of the caretakers of the graveyard picked up a shovel that had been laying nearby and shoved it viciously into the waiting pile of dark muddy earth, still wet from an earlier rainfall. The man raised the shovel, letting it hover over the seemingly cavernous pit and then tipped its loamy load carelessly onto the shroud.

 

Az felt his throat seize at the sight. He was grateful, since the alternative was to surrender to the urge to scream. And scream. And scream.

 

He waited and watched as his kind, intelligent, slightly batty grandfather was covered in rich earth. He bit down on the request that they please stop, that his grandfather wouldn't be comfortable down there, that he had always been extremely sensitive to the cold and damp, that he wouldn't be able to breathe or see. He reminded himself ruthlessly that those were no longer valid issues.

 

Az started as a solid hand landed on his shoulder. “You coming, boy?”, a gruff voice demanded. A softer one added “We understand if you need a little more time. To say goodbye”.

 

Az turned. He must have gotten lost in his thoughts, as all the other attendees appeared to have dispersed. He looked up at his aunt and uncle. “I'll join you in a bit, legit?”.

 

“We understand. Take as long as you need”, came the quiet reply.

 

They left him standing alone by the mound that was now a grave. He watched them go, his aunt nestling into his uncle's side, the man's arm coming up to surround her slender body and pull her closer still. 

 

Az turned back to the mound. _Grave_ , his mind reminded him insistently. He cleared his throat. “Well, here we are. Um”. He paused, trying to organise his thoughts. He began again. “I love you.” It seemed inadequate. “I'm going to miss you so much and...”.

 

He could not do this. He simply could not. These were things his grandfather had always known, they had no place here, as his heart shattered in his chest and spilled his life's blood into the docile creek meandering nearby.

 

Az blinked away the tears, wondering distractedly when they had started again, and what good they did anyone. He breathed deeply, taking in a lungful of the refreshingly chill morning air. He paused, holding the inhalation until his chest burned and then released it slowly until he felt his chest was collapsing in on itself from lack of air. He repeated this process until he could get the words out.

 

“I'll continue what you started. I promise”.

 

It was enough, for now. His grandfather always had preferred deeds over words.

 

Az turned once more, walking quickly away under the gently swaying canopy of emerald trees, past the numerous looming gravestones and softly bubbling brook. In his haste and distress, he missed the figure ducking out of sight behind one of the nearby trees and did not feel the look it shot him burning itself into his retreating back.


	2. Purloining and Absconding

**_Nine years later_ **

 

“Are you sure this is the only way in?”, an unimpressed feminine voice questioned again, a note of apprehension in her voice. “There really isn't any other option?”.

 

Az sighed in exasperation. “No, Thia, this isn't the only way in. It's just the only way I won't get caught coming in. Quite crucial, considering the nature of my visit, don't you think?”.

 

“Jeez, you don't have to get all testy with me, I'm just double checking”.

 

“So when this all goes horribly wrong you hold exclusive rights to say you told me so?”.

 

He could practically hear her answering smirk through the Adhear, a useful technology that had been invented twenty years prior. Though originally designed to be a hearing aid, it had been repurposed to a communication device. A miniscule metal plate and microphone covered by a piezoelectric ceramic, it was designed to be glued to a tooth and using bone conduction to channel vibrations through the jaw and skull to the inner ear, where they would be translated into sounds, bypassing the eardrum entirely. Further modifications ensured that it could be hooked up to an encrypted hologram or roll-up tablet and allow for safe communication from afar, while keeping the user's hearing in the field unobstructed.

 

It was a handy device for an imaginative mind with many potential uses that had, as most good things in Az's life, been introduced to him by his grandfather.

 

The man had been on a mission to improve the lives of the downtrodden everywhere, which meant he had taken a keen interest in nearly every conceivable field of study and research. He had insisted on buying a prototype himself, when he had first heard of the new medical marvel and decided to test it on himself and his young grandson. They had had a marvelous time, a four-year-old Az giggling sweetly and his grandfather chuckling along as the two got used to the strange feeling of buzzing in their mouths and the double sounds they now heard.

 

Thia's tense voice snapped him back to the present. “Okay Az, I'm setting the timer now. Remember, you'll have exactly one minute and twenty-three seconds”. After a slight pause she added “And don't forget that you're treating me to a proper, posh old English breakfast when we're done here, legit?”.  

 

It was her way of reassuring them both that there would **be** an after.

 

“Fine. Now stop distracting me”, Az replied, trying to control the bite in his tone. This was quite a feat in his opinion, since he was currently hanging from a shaft wall with a three-thousand-foot drop with only a few magnets to support his weight and keep him from a long, terrifying plummet with an abrupt and very messy conclusion. Admittedly, some specially reinforced magnets, but that was not nearly as comforting as one might expect.

 

After a few strained moments Thia called “Begin!”.

 

Trying to ignore the intrusive images his mind was now supplying of his own mangled body at the bottom of the shaft, Az quickly climbed down a few meters, and stopped next to the ventilation duct. He clicked the magnet on his hand off and reached into his utility belt for the long-range automatic screwdriver, holding it carefully near each screw in the vent plate, watching each one twist itself steadily out, catching each before it could fall and placing them all in a designated pouch in his utility belt.

 

“Forty-one seconds”, Thia updated, trying for an unconcerned tone.

 

The grille was now dangling by its final screw, forcing Az to lean forward and try and find an angle at which he could bite the cursed thing and while removing the last screw. By the time he finally managed and had put away the screw and screwdriver, Thia's voice rang out once more “Twenty-two seconds”.

 

Az one-handedly shoved the metal grating into the duct and began lifting himself up after it, when he heard an alarmed “Uh oh” followed by an immediate “It’s on, something's turned it on, get in there, get in there NOW!”.

 

Not pausing, Az grabbed the edge of the vent, turned off the magnets and yanked himself part way in, likely cutting himself on the iron mesh in his haste. His legs and lower body were left to flail about in the air as his hands scrabbled to find enough purchase to haul the rest of his body to safety. _Damn it!_ He thought frantically.

 

“Four” Thia uttered, starting the new countdown and typing urgently at her oldschool keypad, watching the hologram and the scene that was unfolding before her.

 

Az extended his arms until he felt they might pop right out of their sockets. He knew from the blueprints Thia had located that he was near an intersection in the duct, and that meant only one thing. His fingers searched until, _Ah ha, yes!_ He felt the corners on both sides of the vent and grabbed one in each hand.

 

“Three”. Groaning and straining, he heaved himself forward, desperately twisting and turning in a frantic attempt to get his legs into the vent.

 

“Two!”. He managed to get his knees in and shuffled inwards as quickly as he could.

 

“ONE!”.

 

He jerked his toes clear just as an enormous elevator shot down at warp speed, streaking by before he had a chance to fully register what had happened.

 

He lay in the dark, panting.

 

“Ha ha! Nonpareil security measures my ass, bet those bastards never expected a pair of world-renowned pilferers like us to come around!” an exuberant voice declared in his ear.

 

“Thia?”. Az's voice was deceptively calm. “Yes, my fabulous felon?”. She was too busy doing a little seated dance in celebration of Az's survival and success to notice. “Didn't you specifically tell me that no one else could operate the rubbish chute? That it was, and I quote, on an automatic timer and there's no chance in blooming hell anything could go wrong?”.

 

Thia stiffened at the inflection on the words, or lack thereof. After a few clicks and some audible typing, she said warily “Seems there was a failsafe”. A few more keystrokes. “A motion detector. It was set to go off in the event any non-preprogrammed movement was observed and isn't part of the network we hacked”.

 

Leaning back in her chair, Thia tried to still her racing heart. “It was a mistake, Az. I underestimated their auxiliary security systems”.

 

A beat of deafening silence.

 

“I'm sorry”.

 

The quiet over the comms made her itch, made her uneasy and slightly sick. She was just about ready to beg or enact one of her ill-conceived escape plans when she heard a murmur.

 

“You're forgiven”.

 

With a sigh of relief, she glanced at the hologram in front of her and typed up a few changes and updates, for future reference. After all, one never knew when one might be called upon to rob the same building twice.

 

In the meantime, Az removed the magnets from his hands and stored them in his belt, pressed on his mask's headlamp and proceeded to squirm until he managed to maneuver the iron lattice out from under him and push it against the side of the duct. He inspected it for any blood, but the UV light revealed none. He nodded in satisfaction, making a mental note to send his compliments to Hephaestus on the creation of the superb full bodysuit and matching mask.

 

Both had been designed and produced by the genius after Az had challenged his capabilities yet again. The pair had a curious partnership, always testing one another, Hephaestus inventing marvels and daring Az to put them to use, and Az questioning his skills and defying him to take on new projects.

 

The bodysuit was another such contraption. It was damned near impossible to penetrate with sharp weapons or shrapnel, released an electromagnetic signal that interfered with sonic or electronic weapons and surveillance, was made of breathable fabric, helped the body maintain an ideal temperature and was waterproof. It came in matte black, camouflage green, or hot pink. “For variety's sake”, as Hephaestus had put it. The mask had several nifty features too, such as face contortion, to help avoid or trick facial recognition software, full face and head protection from blows and other forms of unwanted contact and a headlamp, “So you can go looking for trouble with both hands free”.

 

When the two of them had gone to pick it up from Hephaestus’ workshop, Az had been impressed by this newest apparatus and the speed with which it had been created, letting Hephaestus wax lyrical about it for almost a full minute before interrupting.

 

“Yes, but what happens if it’s ever disabled?”. Thia had looked puzzled at the odd interruption while Hephaestus had narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Hilarious. More tasteless jokes”.

 

With a straight face Az had replied “I prefer to think of them as lame”. Hephaestus glowered. “Almost thought you'd given up on this idiocy”.

 

“I would hate to cripple your image of me”, Az responded brusquely, though his eyes danced with mirth. “You are an unbearable little git, and in due course, I will relish watching you suffer a ghastly demise”, came the answering mutter.

 

“I am simply paralyzed with fear”, Az deadpanned.

 

With a frustrated huff, Hephaestus had stroked the sensor that operated his wheelchair and smoothly backed away from the work table, spun his chair around and left the workshop, calling over his shoulder “It'll work like a dream, and I expect a handwritten apology for any implications to the contrary”.

 

Thia had stared after him, gob smacked.

 

By the time she had recovered, Az had finished his inspection and had begun pulling on the bodysuit.

 

“Do you always make crude jokes at the expense of touchy geniuses who construct the inventions on which your life may or may not depend?”.

 

Az glanced at her before refocusing on the suit, tugging on first one gloved sleeve and then the other. “Only if they're handicapped grouches who lack the capacity to appreciate my whimsical witticisms”. Thia had not been able to come up with an appropriate response to that.

 

Back in the tunnel, Az went over the plan in his mind once more. He had been hired by an affluent individual, who fancied himself an art connoisseur, to procure a rare and valuable kinetic sculpture. The sculpture had been crafted by a famous scientist and was presently hanging on the wall of some well-to-do manager’s office on the hundred and first floor. Thia would direct Az through the vents and lead him to the right office and then provide an unremarkable distraction that would enable Az to sneak in, grab the sculpture and leave via the same vents.

 

 _Of course,_ Az mused, _that was before we knew about the motion detector_. That threw a rather large wrench in their original plan, because Az had no feasible means of escape. They could not disable the monitor without some impromptu hacking which would almost certainly alert building surveillance and result in the Security Partition being called in, and Az could not climb back up the waste pit and simply hope the elevator did not come streaking down, squashing him like a grape. No, this called for a change of plans.

 

“I'll need a distraction that will last”, Az did some internal calculations, “ten minutes. Think you can manage that?”.

 

Thia hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I think I have just the thing”.

 

Doing his best to put whatever distraction Thia would come up with from his mind, Az crawled through the flues, following the directions she provided, until he reached the right one.

 

Clicking off the headlamp, Az slithered snake-like to the vent opening, and peered through the silvery grid. The small office was occupied by a thin, severe woman sitting at a faux wood desk and studiously flicking her fingers over a hologram floating before her. Her private roll-up tablet was propped up and open behind her, displaying a family photograph: her, her wife and their two children. Next to the roll-up was their prize; the kinetic sculpture was hanging on the wall, spinning peacefully, unaware of the disturbance it was about to cause.

 

There were no cameras in the office and no other monitors either. _That we know of_ , Az mused darkly.

 

After a few moments, a vociferous voice that was programmed to be soothing but was instead annoyingly serene rang out.

 

“Fire-drill. Repeat, fire-drill. All occupants are to report to their pre-assigned egress. Please proceed in a calm and orderly fashion to your egress. When your egress’ number is called, you will be evacuated to an adjacent building via the nearest overpass”.

 

It obviously wasn't human, though it was nearly impossible to put a finger on precisely why. It was also the kind of voice that could drive even the mildest mannered person to find the voice, or at least its source, and commit gruesome acts of violence against it until it stopped speaking. _Or perhaps that's only how I feel about it_ , Az reflected wryly.

 

The woman sighed, swiped a few last details onto the hologram before turning it off, grabbing her roll-up tablet and getting up and walking to the automatic sliding door, looking over her shoulder to check she had not left anything out of place, before finally leaving the office.

 

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Az got out the screwdriver and set about removing the duct cover. The screws and metallic grid clattered to the floor, but most of the noise was muffled by the sound resistant walls and the rest was lost in the hubbub caused by the droves now heading towards the egresses. Az pulled himself out cautiously, dropping gracefully to the floor. He swiftly replaced the grid and screws, took off the leg magnets he had been unable to remove in the vents and disrobed, uncovering the livery beneath: a blinding orange overall with a message flashing across at regular intervals that read **Official Courier**.

 

That done, he padded over to the moving sculpture, examining it critically before reaching into the belt and taking out various tools he needed to remove it from its perch.

 

He spent several minutes fiddling with the blasted thing until it came free of the wall. He withdrew an official carrier bag from a pouch in the utility belt and placed the sculpture, belt and folded bodysuit delicately inside, sealing the bag up and then hastened out the unlocked door, letting it click shut behind him.

 

Az walked hurriedly, expertly weaving through the throng while clutching the package protectively to his chest. He honed in on the nearest egress and rushed towards it, gaining speed and urgency as he went. The guards standing and directing traffic were not from the Security Partition, and when he raised the package in response to their queries, they waved him through. Quick as a hare, he dashed onto the overpass, crossing it in record time and entering one of the neighboring buildings.

 

Immediately, he slowed a little, straightened his back slightly while relaxing his shoulders and let the crowd's natural ebb and flow carry him to a social drain in the building, in this case an elegant café oozing delicious smells.

 

Upon entering, the maître d’ materialized from thin air and inquired politely “Shaliach, how may I be of service?”. She eyed the package and continued “If you are meeting someone, could I perhaps show you to their table?”.

 

“Yes, she should be here already, has likely been working on her hologram for some time now? I understand she's something of a regular at your establishment?”.

 

The woman's eyes lit up and she nodded enthusiastically. “But of course! Ms. Lionheart is right this way”. She motioned for him to follow her and led him to a spacious booth at the rear of the restaurant, near the toilets.

 

In the booth, Thia was assiduously dancing her fingers across the hologram, elegantly manipulating it and ignoring their arrival until the maître d’ announced their presence with a tactful four knock, tap ta-ta-tap.

 

At the use of such precise etiquette, Thia looked up and smiled pleasantly. “Ah yes, thank you Desanna”. Turning from the beaming woman to focus on Az she said, “Excellent timing”.

 

She held out her hands and Az handed her their disguised plunder. She picked up her roll-up tablet and ran it over the seal, which unlatched instantly. She peeped into the bag, hummed thoughtfully and closed it back up. She proceeded to tuck it into her own satchel, with the word **Nagid** circling on it like a shark. “That will be all, Shaliach”.

 

Dismissed, Az wandered after the maître d’, sighing wearily once they were out of earshot of Thia. The woman, Desanna, glanced at him sympathetically and asked, “Rough day?”. “You have no idea”.

 

She hesitated, then continued “We have showers and changing rooms in the back. You'd be more than welcome to them if you'd like”. Az blinked at her blankly twice before flashing his dimples at her. “That'd be a huge help. This whole day's been one long drill”. She returned the smile, adding “Got some clothes too, though they're mostly lost and found bits and bobs we haven't got around to recycling yet. You could help yourself”.

 

 _Guess good looks are good for something after all_. He kept the smile firmly in place and thanked her. Thia would have disabused him of that notion, claiming that Desanna had done it out of kindness. Az was past such naiveté.

 

Heading to the back, he nodded respectfully to Thia and entered the door marked **Employees Only**. The lost and found was in a box that was easy to spot, and he nabbed some comfy-looking clothing from it. To the left was a door marked Showers, so he went in and rinsed away the hard-earned sweat. Stepping into the dryer, he waited for the telling beep that signaled that he was fully dry and then grabbed the clothes and dressed.

 

Once fully clothed, he pressed a hand beside the door, and paused as it transformed into a full-length mirror. Az stepped closer, tilted his head at his image and pursed his lips, considering the new look. After a breath, he raised his hand and tousled his hair. Satisfied, he pressed his hand in the same place as before and the door returned to its regular opaque state.

 

He exited the room, making a beeline for Desanna, thanking her again and bidding her farewell; it never hurt to be too cordial, or to make new contacts.

 

Leaving the café was like walking on marshmallow fluff. Az did his best imitate the way he had walked when he'd come in, but he felt lighter than air. Everything had gone to a tee.

 

He and Thia would take separate routes, confusing the tracking software and any potential pursuit. They would meet back up in an hour at the drop site two buildings over and would trade the kinetic sculpture for an inordinate sum of mazuma. Az couldn't help but feel optimistic.

 

_Really, what could possibly go wrong?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back my sweets. :D Hope it's been worth the wait. 
> 
> I've been enjoying me some world building, character introducing and plot developing. 
> 
> Please note that if I find inspiration in some site etc., I will try and leave a link to it in the notes so you can see it for yourselves. 
> 
> Regarding Adhear, the device is removable and reusable. It adheres to the teeth with a special 'super glue' polymer spray and is removed with a different 'anti glue' polymer spray. It could also function as a new kind of headphones, playing music etc. without ruining one's hearing, if one so desired. 
> 
> For more about the science behind my idea for the hearing device ‘Adhear’ (the name is my own, and is a play on words), please feel free to look at the following sites. To learn more about bone conduction hearing devices, here is a website of a Japanese company that deals in them:   
> http://www.goldendance.co.jp/English/boneconduct/01.html
> 
> Any actual science in my explanation, as well as any information about how the device might function comes from the following patent:   
> https://patents.google.com/patent/US5447489A/en
> 
> Anyhow, I really hope you enjoyed the read and that I'll be seeing you again here next time I post a chapter. More exciting and (at some point) smutty chapters to come! *Cackles gleefully* 
> 
> Ahem. Anyway, have a good week/day/night/time in the meantime. Bye!


	3. Possible Pardon

**_‘All of us hope for a little redemption, whether we deserve it or not.’  - Snuff, Terry Pratchett_ **

 

As it turned out, nothing went wrong. The exchange went off without a hitch, the prodigious sum of mazuma transferred to his account.

 

 _You'd think it would be harder to commit crimes when we're all so closely packed together_.

 

Of course, in a world of soaring buildings interconnected by bridges and overpasses, it often wasn't particularly easy to break the law unobserved. One had to get creative at times. Az was willing to admit that all the privacy laws the Divisions upheld as sacred helped too.

 

After the Fiscal Failing, a financial collapse of epic proportions that occurred two hundred years before, a summit was convened. During that fateful summit, a proposal that had been suggested previously and had been discarded as impractical and imprudent was re-evaluated. This proposal advocated, as one memorable slogan described it, **One World, One Country, One People**. It outlined a rough draft of how this could be brought about and demonstrated that if appropriate measures were taken beforehand, such a world would be more efficient and stable.

 

The majority wanted that stability, no matter the price and so the Sole was born. It began with eighteen countries, most of them powerful and influential and a few that rode on the backs of the others, hoping to gain an advantage in the future. The problem was that for the plan to work, **all** countries would have to join.

 

A task force was established. After seven years of impossible negotiations, overt threats and subtle diplomacy applied like a scalpel, all countries had joined.

 

As soon as the last country had signed the contract, before the ink even had a chance to dry, the Sole leadership dissolved them all. It took pre-existing organisations and placed them under sections of the new rulership, called Partitions. The entire world’s police forces and security agencies were transferred to the Security Partition, the major food and water suppliers became part of the Agriculture Partition and so on.

 

It also enacted new laws that forbade being in vast regions of the world, instead dividing and allocating areas to imperative tasks: living, farming, manufacturing and others that would build a better, brighter future for all mankind.

 

From the way the Media Division presented it, the Sole had saved humanity and the environment and was the only reason both had survived and their only means of continuing to do so.

 

The first few decades had been rough, with many protests and riots from all corners of the globe, but after some harsh policies were put into practice, most populations fell in line.

 

Then, after twenty years of intensive planning and building, the towers had been finished. The towers were a momentous project that would force most of the population to live together in residences that had been built to house them and would free up more land for farming, wildlife, manufacturing and more. In such tight quarters, hate crimes escalated and dissention grew. The biggest powder keg imaginable had been formed, and people kept pouring on the fuel and lighting matches left and right. No one knew what would be the cause that would finally push this new world into war, but none doubted there would be one.

 

In the end one couple, a sweet Australian man of Korean descent and an imposing South African woman, single handedly changed the course of history.

 

The pair began free lessons against hate, anger and religion. They provided programs and activities to the youth, bringing them together while encouraging parents to attend as well, organised many charity events for the rich and powerful who wished to prevent a war that would decimate their businesses and threaten their livelihoods. The couple toiled on every aspect endlessly, and their labour bore fruit: eventually most ethnic and religious tensions eased and then ended.

 

_Yet crime remains._

 

Az's mind often wandered like this after the high from finishing an exciting job had waned, and in a bid to calm it he would let his legs carry him around different floors and buildings until his mind was done running through all the thoughts he’s accumulated.

 

He was having his post victory stroll through a well-lit corridor on a popular floor and was so deep in thought he did not notice several shadows closing in on him until it was too late.

 

_Note to self: Don’t be so drunk on success and endorphins that your typically knife-like intuition is so dulled that any old meatheads can jump you._

 

Az did not run. It was a tenet to live by in a jungle of pillars, walls and seated little old ladies who tended to place their walking sticks just so in order to trip the unwary or hasty. The true goal though was never letting on something had gone awry. If you walked purposefully and quickly, you were a man with a plan. If you ran, you were a man whose plan had morphed into a raving monstrosity that was trying to eat you and needed to beat a rapid retreat. So, Az did not run when in public. He hurried, he marched, he even strutted when necessary - but he wouldn't run.

 

He settled into an easy meander, aiming delicately for the midst of a crowd that had formed around some corridor performers that had popped up randomly, as they were wont to do. He was not unduly worried, truth be told, since he did not have any incriminating evidence on his person, nor any valuables. The most likely explanation for the unwanted attention was access to a certain floor or office block, and though it would be irksome to be accosted and menaced, he was willing to put up with it, for the moment. Az would later uncover their location and pay them a visit during which they would be given two options; they would opt to indemnify him, handsomely. They would not choose the second option. No one ever did.

 

He proceeded through the crowd, artfully nudging folk out of his way and into the path of his pursuers, for extra sport, their muttered apologies and the angry stir they left in their wake music to his ears. _No reason to make it too simple, after all_. Once he reached its outskirts, he swerved left behind a pillar and around a corner and stood stock-still, regarding the interchange before him.  

 

_If I go down Sandy Corridor and hang a right onto Skyline Passage, I will reach the overpass to Quirky Landing Tower and can vanish into the concrete-work. Alternatively, I could take Mindy's Skirt and then go left onto Baffling Bison and then take two rights, we'll reach very aptly named Dead End and I'll be trapped alone with a group of dubious characters whose intentions appear less than honourable._

 

_Left or right?_

 

There was clearly only one satisfying answer. Az dodged left.

 

When he arrived at Dead End, he arranged himself deftly, leaning against the wall in an aggravatingly blasé manner and slightly cocking his hip to accentuate his alluring and strong body. By the time his dawdling escorts converged, Az was regretting the colossal waste of time and had begun planning how they would compensate him for the irredeemable loss.

 

They surrounded him, a tiresome display of power intended to set him on edge and make him feel helpless. Az quirked his lips into a mocking smirk. _I'll give them their petty flaunting and dismantle their entire lives one tiny increment at a time, until they are buried in a deluge of refuse that may have once resembled their lives._

 

Az was not well known for his bleeding heart.

 

Once they had finished positioning themselves, they must have indicated as much, for the apparent leader stepped forward.

 

_Do they have a secret gesticulation they all learn as part of orientation? Or are you only appointed leader if you can intuit where every individual in your coterie is at any given moment?_

 

A short woman with a round friendly face with laughter crinkles currently set in an austere expression stepped forward. “Az Canamer? Come with us”. _That’s unexpected_. They had him trapped and outnumbered, there was no need to move him and risk discovery, or worse, escape. _Unless_ , Az thought with dawning trepidation, _they aren't criminals._

 

“First thing my parents ever taught me: never go anywhere with strangers, and you lot have strangeness down pat”. They gazed at him, unamused.

 

“That is improbable. You never knew your parents, they died three weeks after you were born”, the woman said flatly.

“Really? How very negligent of me. I'll be sure to take better care of them next time”, Az replied sardonically.

 

 _Someone has been debriefed about me_.

 

“Moreover, if you do not come with us voluntarily, we will knock you out and take you”. She raised her hand, showing Az the electronic stun gun she held. Az narrowed his eyes, calculating. “And if I come with you”, he paused meaningfully, “voluntarily?”.

 

She ignored the dig. “Then we will put blinders in your eyes and lead you there”.

 

He could try and fight them, but they would jolt him senseless instantly. He would not be able to guess where they had taken him, nor how long it had taken to get there, and he would wake with a headache the size of a wooly mammoth and be woozy to boot.

 

“The latter, if you please”.

 

She eyed him doubtfully, trying to figure out his angle before giving up and motioning a man forward. The man rifled through some pockets, eventually pulling out a pair of blinding lenses and an applicator. _Guess they didn't expect me to pick the easy way_. The man stepped closer and reluctantly handed them over. _Hoped I wouldn't pick it_ , Az amended.

 

Az studied the applicator, recognising it from previous cons he had run that had necessitated changing his eye colour; He had never wanted to try the surgery, though he had been assured by others that it was harmless. The blinders were idiot proof: you placed the applicator against an open eye and touched a finger to the button. The device would hold the eyelids, spray an adhesive layer over the cornea and lay the lens gently upon it, smoothing it down while leaving a tiny flap that the device’s miniscule claw could grip later, during removal.

 

He brought it to his right eye, waited for the world to darken and a **blip** indicating the procedure had been a success and then pressed to his left eye and repeated the process. Quelling a sense of unease, he blindly held out the applicator until it was snatched from his loose grip and listened intently to his kidnappers. They did not speak amongst themselves, though their prize was within their grasp. _Professionals it would seem, if slightly ham-handed_.

 

A big hand landed forcefully on his shoulder and walked him toward the interchange, then spun him around until he was dizzy with it and tripping over his own feet. When they deemed him appropriately disoriented, he was led roughly and inattentively. Az did not cry out when they walked him, deliberately he suspected, into what felt like a bench. The second time it happened, Az's suspicions were confirmed. By the fourth time, the leader made an irritated sound and snapped “Enough”. There were no more collisions after that.

 

Az did his best to keep track of the route by sound and smell, only the blasted smubs must have taken corridors off the beaten path. There were hardly any indicative noises and nearly no scents, though that changed as they progressed.  

 

Tiny whiffs became a miasma of bleach that fought the odour of unwashed bodies until finally the disinfectant prevailed, chasing the sweaty stench into oblivion. Az resisted the need to gag.

 

“Going to retch, wretch?”, a voice sneered in his ear. Az rolled his eyes, and muttered “Well, now I know where average puns are manufactured”.

 

A pregnant pause, before a different, inquisitive voice asked, “Where?”.

 

“The barely satisfactory”.

 

Az could almost see the cogs turning before the penny dropped and one of them groaned. “Punning is an onerous task, given only to the most competent and qualified of individuals”, Az sniffed snootily. His statement was met with what he liked to think of as an enlightened hush.

 

After several more minutes of silent trudging, he heard the telltale whoosh of a door sliding open and the bombinating chatter of what could only have been office workers. He was led swiftly through the constant buzz to another door and knew it had shut when the hum cut off abruptly. This was unsurprising, as all walls, doors and windows were soundproofed in a desperate attempt to preserve privacy and sanity in the enclosed spaces.

 

They steered him down some stairs and past several more doors, until Az felt the heavy hand on his shoulder squeeze the joint until the bones grated against each other.

 

“Sit. **Don't** move”.

 

Az felt behind him for the chair and perched on it. He stilled as a hand grabbed his chin and pressed the applicator to each of his eyes in turn, revealing what lay beyond.

 

It was a modest interrogation room, with a table and two chairs, both occupied. He glanced up at the three remaining guards who had ushered him here. “Thank you, Larry, Marketa, Joephik. That'll be all”.

Joephik and Marketa scowled while Larry's lips gave an unmistakable twitch of amusement.

 

At a gesture from the man in the seat the three vacated the room. _The overseer perhaps?_

 

“I hadn't realised you knew them”, the older of the two men sounded curious. Az turned his attention to the men seated before him, keeping his face blank with a tang of boredom. “I don't need to know them to recognise their type”. “And what type is that?”, the man queried as the wrinkles in corners of his eyes deepened. “Moilers”.

 

The younger man, a stunning dark specimen, all hulking muscle and sloping planes, snorted. He was slouching back in the chair, and Az fought the fierce desire to kick the chair out from under him. He could almost taste the change that would cause in the atmosphere, as he sent the man sprawling to the floor. The man would gaze at him rebelliously with his, _holy hell_ , his defiant cerulean eyes and Az would gladly punish him for his insolence and lack of decorum. Az shifted slightly and adjusted his now slightly constricting trousers. He didn't often have the pleasure of meeting new and attractive men, too busy planning his next heist to waste time on meaningless relationships. He was beginning to rethink that policy.

 

The older man cleared his throat loudly, dragging Az back from his fantasy. The man raised a refined eyebrow and Az donned an innocent smile before his expression shuttered again. “Most entertaining. How long did you practice to perfect that visage?”, the man chuckled.

 

“While it's true I am an absolute joy to have around, I would hazard that is not the reason I was brought here. So, what do you want?”.  

 

“First, I think introductions are in order. My name is Vie Soud and this”, he motioned to the imposing beauty, “is Akila Tate. We are part of the Justice Partition. As for the reason you are here today…”. He paused.

 

The lack of expression on Az's face somehow became more pronounced. _Why does his name sound familiar?_

 

“We have a mission for you, should you choose to accept it. We are offering you the opportunity to be a part of the most ambitious undertaking to ever occur in this Division. Your assignment, to put it simply, will be to end meniality everywhere, permanently”.

 

Az burst out laughing.

 

When he realised he was the only one, the grin slid from his face and flopped to the floor, where it shriveled and died. “You must be joking”. Two pairs of somber eyes regarded him, one bitter chocolate and one luminous azure and looking in them, there could be no doubt about their sincerity. _Which means they're serious_ , Az thought dazedly. _Seriously insane._

 

Fighting to regain his composure, Az demanded “And how, exactly, do you propose I go about doing that? Shall I waltz into M.A.L.I.S headquarters and insist they close their multibillion mazuma business and release all menials immediately? Or better yet, go straight to the Divisions of Authority, and tell them, on live wire, that they must free a million menials **and** find work for them? People who've never properly worked a day in their lives! How about I save the assassins and the rest of them all the trouble, and just slit my own throat?”.

 

“None of the above”. Soud’s face was placid, and Az wanted to shake him until his brains rattled, to make sure he still had any. Though it likely wouldn't help, as the man clearly had a screw loose, possibly a host of other objects as well. “We will send you and an experienced detective undercover as a suzerain and his menial. Together, you will gather evidence proving that meniality is but another name for slavery and that its proponents are malefactors in every sense of the word”.

 

Az stared at him incredulously. “That's it? That's your grand scheme to end meniality? To send a suspected successful criminal and a single detective with a clearly questionable grip on reality to bring down a network of ruthless, some might argue deranged, men and women spread throughout the Sole? To try and bring charges against them for how they treat their, and I think this should be emphasized, **legally** hired workers, in the hopes that they abuse them badly enough to provide sufficient evidence to bring meniality crumbling to its knees?”. Az snorted derisively. “Oh yes, I’m sure it will be that simple. Why, we'll wander right in and ask that they pretty please share all their darkest secrets with a couple of newcomers. Then we'll just let them know we’re popping round the corner to the Justice Partition for a cuppa, and not to worry about the ample evidence we’re taking along, it’s only so that we can get them all arrested as soon as possible. We'll be finished by next week!”.

 

“Naturally not. It will be a protracted and arduous enterprise, but one that is vital for the continued good of the Sole, both moral and corporeal”.

 

“It can't be done. And even if it could, I refuse to be a menial for some pompous plodder”.

 

Soud nodded sagely, settling back in his chair. _That wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it would be_. “You're right, of course. It will be nigh impossible”. He inspected his nails fastidiously. “For you”.

 

Into the yawning cavern of quiet that had opened he added, “I thought I was dealing with the grandson of Omez Canamer. Must have been some error. Please, go sign a nondisclosure agreement and be on your way”. He made a shooing motion with his hand.  

 

The falsely casual mention of his beloved grandfather had a fist closing around Az's throat, but he kept his face impassive and his tone light.

 

“You didn't even know my grandfather. Besides do you really trust the word of an implicated swindler?”.

 

“Actually, I knew you both. You see I was his contact in the Justice Partition for his altruistic vagaries. Perhaps this will jog your memory: the first time we ever met, I had recently lost my first detective. I was in quite a state and went to your grandfather for much needed… advice. As we sat at your little kitchen table, a tiny tot came up to me. After gazing at me for several moments, he clambered up my leg, plopped himself onto my knees and asked for my name. Once I had given it, he sat there facing me with a look of such concentration that I dared not interrupt, before finally pronouncing loudly that he had a found the perfect nickname for me. Your grandfather later gave you a severe scolding for it. You nicknamed me…”

 

“Sour Soud”.

 

“Quite”.

 

Az remembered. Later, after their guest had left, his grandfather had guffawed about, as he had christened the incident, the Cleping. Such behaviour was not repeated, in company anyway. In the privacy of their own home however, his grandfather had encouraged his imaginative labeling and often ended up wheezing on the ancient battered armchair, tears of amusement leaking from his eyes.

 

“Ah. I knew you looked familiar. Haven't changed much, have you? Still fighting for desperate causes, though it's hopeless”.

 

“Aren't those the causes truly worth battling for? Isn't that what your grandfather dedicated his life to? Hopeless undertakings, giving a voice to those who have none?”.

 

Az cloaked his swirling feelings in a slight frown indicating that while his grandfather had indeed devoted his life to many noble causes, he himself had little to no interest in doing so. _What an unfortunate approach to have chosen. I am not a copy of my grandfather. I respected and loved him, but he would never have approved of me endangering myself needlessly._

 

“Besides, do you think he would be proud of the man you have become? At best, you are a lazy layabout who wastes his time and talents. At worst, though I cannot prove it, you are an unsavoury individual who latches himself parasitically on to others and their success, robbing them blind”. He leaned forward, a predator sensing weakness. He let his voice slide into a lower pitch, as though to avoid others overhearing the next words. “And, even more shockingly, you do so with a reckless disregard for your own safety”.

 

Az stiffened. A feeling he had long since thought lost to him welled from within. Shame.

 

“We are offering you a unique chance at something very few people ever attain: redemption”.

 

Az swallowed down the lump in his throat, and with a contrived air of aloofness said “So all my past sins will, what? Be forgotten?”. He scoffed.

 

Soud sat back. “All your past misdeeds, all the pain and heartache you have caused will not be erased - but they will be outweighed. Stopping slavery will be the act that tips the scales in your favour. You will also finally be a man worthy of your grandfather, of his love and adoration”.

 

_He thinks he's got me hook, line and sinker, but I've yet to accept a job that didn't have some tangible benefits and I won't start now. It would ruin my reputation, if it ever got out. They'd think I've gone soft, and that's the fastest way to get a knife in the back, allegedly to test the consistency._

 

“And, as the cherry on top, we will cease our investigations into you and any suspicious activities you may have participated in in the past and reward you handsomely for your services, once concluded”.

 

“Before. You'll reward me before I begin, and I'll not be prosecuted for anything I do during the operation. I will be acting alone, no superiors. I'll report directly to you, or another supervisor of my choice, at my discretion. Also, I will be the suzerain, not the menial. You'll give me an emergency distress signal too”.

 

Soud’s face displayed no surprise whatsoever at the apparent decision Az had reached, nor at the barrage of demands. “Forgive my rudeness, but you **are** an alleged harrier. We cannot in good conscience pay you a substantial sum of mazuma and expect you to complete the mission and not disappear”. Az considered this. “Half”. “Beg your pardon?”. “Half the amount before, and the other half after. Though to ensure my cooperation, each sum will have to be sizable enough to satisfy me both times”. He smirked humourlessly.

 

Soud nodded thoughtfully. “As for reports, I agree they should be limited to myself and one other supervisor, in case I am unavailable or there are other emergencies. But I think it wise to set them up on a weekly basis, preplanned”.

 

Az dismissed the idea even as it left Soud's mouth. “Too limiting. Not to mention fishy. No. A bi-weekly report, face to face on Tandem, whenever I can make myself available”. Soud settled more comfortably in his chair, preparing for the long haul. “Very well. No emergency distress signal”. “Fine. Let's get the contracts written up, signed and notarized. Naturally it'll be done by the bodies that are paying”. “Shall I call for legal counsel?”. “You'll probably need it”.

 

Akila was an Adonis statue the whole time, making no sounds, nor changing his expression. Az cut a gaze to him. “So what is his role in all this?”.

 

“He will be your menial”.

 

Az studied him. “Then I will train him. He'll be entirely in my power”. It was a veiled question.

 

The angel spoke for the first time “I understand and accept the risks”. At Az's doubtful eyebrow raise, he added “I’ll get the job done. One way or another”. And that was that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to you all, my precious readers. Some notes for your perusal. 
> 
> Italics are thoughts, bold can be signs, emphasis or any other slew of things that I have yet to figure out how to indicate. Ideas? 
> 
> Mazuma is the currency in The Sole, not hard cash or other types of money. Only trade of services, mazuma or equivalent goods is legal (these good may include menials). 
> 
> And now, I invite you to relax, pull up a chair, as this author proudly presents your dinner delectable next chapter (who doesn't love Disney?).


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